Thursdays Childe
by Captain Harley Quinn
Summary: It was a Thursday when Stiles' eyes turned as black as pitch. Then things turn even odder when the demon seems to start getting attached to his meatsuit.
1. Chapter 1

Thursdays Childe

It was a Thursday when his eyes turned as black as pitch.

_Authors Note: My first Teen Wolf fic! and it's about demon!stiles. I really not sure if I've managed to portray everyone correctly which is why I haven't wrote and/or posted any Teen Wolf before but I am new to this fandom but ohmygod it gives me so many feels and Stiles is such a pretty angel! Also, everyone should just listen to Stiles Stilinski because everyone else is stupid._

_Authors Note: To prove I can actually write something short because they all seem to be chaptered ones now. Also, Stiles is my baby._

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own **_**Teen Wolf**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not mine.**

Stiles had gone to bed, relatively normal - well, as normal as a teenage boy with ADHD and a werewolf for a best friend could be - and dead-set on ignoring the tugging in his stomach as he had stared out of his window, unusually still and uncommonly silent as he gazed with blank eyes at the black mass of cloud that had hung suspended in the air just above the Stilinski house.

He had collasped upon his bed, clad in only an old hoody he had pinched from Scott when the transition had forced his bulk to become bigger and a pair of ratty, barely used boxer shorts before happily curling up underneath his numerous blankets and stuffing his head under the pillow to block to diming light of the sky from his vision.

Rather than lamenting over the rather suspicious absence of the wolves, he paid no mind to their disappearence, sure that they - a Beta and an Alpha - would be able to look after themselves - or rather, Derek would look after himself whilst trying to make sure the rather dense Scott didn't get distracted by thoughts of Allison or a bunny (perhaps to Scott, they were the same thing, Stiles had always thought Scott was a bit stupid, if not rather dumb. Hell, even before becoming a werewolf, Scott would snuffle in his sleep and yelp as if he was chasing Thumper around the garden; it had become a source of pure enjoyment for Stiles and pure embarrasment for Scott).

When he had awoken, his eyes had opened but his body didn't obey his commands.

He watched from inside his own head - feeling like his mother could have felt when he had slowly saw her fall prey to her cancer, sat silently and wasting away in that hospital bed - as this foreign entity, this _demon_ turned Stiles' body to and fro, running admiring eyes over the soft flesh and silver scars that littered his body.

A hand lingered of the small pin-prink marks that Peter Hales fangs had left upon his wrist.

They would always be there now, no bigger than that of a pencil lead when sharpened, none of the pack new about his two new additions and Stiles wanted to keep it that way. Scott didn't really count because he hadd only cocked his head to the right and sniffed only to draw a confused face before saying that there was a new scent mixed in with Stiles. (There, Stiles had primarily panicked and kicked Scott out of the window where he landed in a thorny rosebush in Mrs Next Doors Garden but Stiles had paid no mind because he was putting his mad research Googling skills to the ultimate test to find out why some of frickin' Peter Hales scent had infused into his. And than came the fact that Stiles found out that when an Alpha offered a human or fellow wolf a bite on the wrist, it was a mark of Courting. In otherwords, Peter Hale - _Peter Hale! - _ had been planning to Court Stiles - _oh holy hell_)

"This will do _very_ nicely," The stranger inhabiting his body said as he exhaled smoothly; and it wasn't _Stiles _but it was Stiles' voice. It was cold and smooth and dark but beneath it lay Stiles' usual warmth and giddiness and Stiles couldn't help but beat his metaphorical fists bloodied upon the invisible ward that trapped in in the depths of his own mind, cold and dank and wet in a dark corner where red eyes loomed and spirits tried to draw him in; his mothers corpse laid out in front of him, cold and dead with her tightly curled brown hair splayed around her head like a blackened halo as her ice blue eyes stared at Stiles, dead_dead__**dead**__._

"Getout!" Stiles screamed, voice hoarse and high-pitched, shaking with his terror and his anger as he fought and fought, beating himself bloody as he tried to gain control but he couldn't and he could only watch with helplessness as the demon in his body laughed and laughed that horrible laugh that gave Stiles chills and made him want to curl up and c_ry_.

He could only watch as the demon ran a hand down the bodies chest, long but blunt nails creating thick red welts that clashed sharply with Stiles' pale skin, the hoody having been discarded with fervent hands that admired Stiles in a way that made Stiles want to flash a neon torch with the words '_BAD-TOUCH!_' firmly entrenched within them.

Really? Could it be classed as the bad-touch if it's your body - only someone else is making you do it? Here, Stiles put his head in his hands, temporaily forgetting where he was and what type of incident he was in. How was this even his life? Seriously, _how?_

Stiles could only surrender himself to the will of the demon, watching helplessly as the demon opened his wardrobe only to tut with his hands upon his hips - and really? trust Stiles to get a fashion-forward demon inhabiting his body - before digging around for the pair of leather pants that Stiles had pretended not to notice Erica slip into his room along with a black short sleeved shirt that left nothing to imagination.

This demon wasn't looking to fit in; he was looking for trouble.

It was when the demon was back in front of the mirror screwed into the back of his door did Stiles know who - or precisely what - they may have been dealing with; where his normal warm brown eyes used to be, Stiles could only find dark blackness, cold and never ending and Stiles couldn't help the picture of Severus Snape from Harry Potter popping up in his mind and making him give a deranged snort; what was even stranger was the fact that the demon saw the pictured form and let out an odd sounding snort that stopped Stiles in his track.

But it was the blackness of his eyes that sent his mind into over-drive; he had stead-fastly managed to translate the entirity of Gerards bestiary, though slightly disappointed by the fact that the old man had gone the way of technology, he had copied everything into a large, leather bound book as well as transferring it to his computer as back-up; he might not have been as smart or a genius Lydia Martin but he wasn't entirely stupid.

He strained his mind, struggling before managing to remember the page that had been before Spirit-Wulfs - born wolfs where their wolves were attached to their spirits, their souls and could never be parted from - and after Necromancers - normal humans apart from the whole raising the undead thing which Stiles had thought was pretty cool; until it mentioned the fact that the undead would be just that, the _undead_ with really no mind or order but with a single entity which is to do their masters or mistresses bidding, which; _awesome_ with a capital A.

He remembered black-eyes and the words demons, coldness and hell and the word Lucifer which sent a chill down his spine; before his mother had died, they had been very religious, Amanda having been a devout Catholic and John wanting to do anything to keep his wife happy but that was before, and with his mothers death, Stiles lost his faith in God.

But he had remembered those lessons, the olde scrolls with sometimes undecipherable writing upon the parchments with the words black-eyes and possession and demon scratched into them.

But in his musings, the demon had begun to move and Stiles was but a driving passanger as his eyes resided back to his normal brown as they walked - or sauntered more like - to his old jeep and in his own mind and trapped in his own body, Stiles let his jaw drop because Demons were supernatural creatures so _why_ would they need something like cars when they can freaking _run_ like a cheetah?

Like a puppet whose Master was contorting the strings, the demon - he really needed to find out the demons name, for gods sake because he just couldn't go around saying he had been a meatsuit for a demon, well shucks, he wouldn't have been able to do that anyway because who wants to know anyone who had been a _meatsuit_ for a goddamn _demon_? -Stiles' body was forced towards the burned out husk of the Hale House, blackened and crumbling but still the home of Derek, Erica, Isaac and Boyd as well as on occasion, Scott when he wasn't being such a douchenozzle which was pretty much _all the time_.

He had only stepped onto the bottom step of the Hale House when the porch was flooded, Stiles wrinkled his nose a the scent of woodland and pine fresh invaded the air, feeling a swell of hope bloom in the human he was inhabitating. _He couldn't have that, now could he_?

"Stiles!" Scott, exhuberant, dense Scott McCall, hadn't even noticed anything was wrong as he bounced forward towards Stiles, looking more like a furry, woodland creature than a frickin' werewolf - _"Seriously Stiles, how is this even a werewolf?" "Shut-up," _- and he couldn't help but wonder why on earth an Alpha would ever want to bite this monstrousity of a werewolf whow as more likely to play with the fucking bunnies than eat Thumper.

Stiles stiffened when he felt Scott wrap arms around him, before the miserable excuse for a werewolf bounced back to stand next to Allison.

"My name," Stiles started, voice cold and Derek - the Alpha obviously and the demon only rolled his eyes because seriously? That jawline was kind of ridiculous and the hair was so much better on Lucifer than Derek. "Is not Stiles,"

The blond girl - _Erica_ - frowned, her red painted lips pursed sternly. "Did you take to much Adderall, Stilinski? Because I think it's messed with more than your hyperactivity,"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure your name is Stiles, unless you're going by Geni-," Scott was cut off by a wave of a hand. He froze for a second before he was suddenly flung back, through crumbling walls and destroyed furniture to land on the other side of the shell, shocked and disorientated but otherwise unharmed. Derek, having stood stoic and silent til then, roared. His eyes had bled to red even as his canines had elongated to fangs. Stiles clapped his hands together, feeling a morbid sense of thrilling happiness well up in him.

"Now _this_ is more like it!" He yelled, grinning widely as he bounced up and down.

Derek, having forced Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Allison behind him despite them being wolfed out and Allison at the ready with a knife that Erica had withdrawn, made no attempt to approach Stiles - or rather, the person or _thing_ that was wearing Stiles' face and body - frowned, eyebrows heavy and daunting as he stared into Stiles' usually warm brown eyes.

"What are you?" He growled, voice dark as he stared at the body of his human pack mate. With a wide grin, white teeth shined as Stiles only gazed at him. Stiles' head tilted to the right, that same, glinting and inhumanly wide smile still set upon Stiles' face. He blinked once-

And Derek, startled, lept back claws held out front of him as he bared his fangs at the _thing_ that was Stiles but wasn't. This thing, this thing with the blackened eyes and the too-wide grin wasn't _his_ Stiles; _his_ Stiles was warm and brown-eyed and couldn't fling a _werewolf_ with merely a wave of his hand.

"I, my dear Alpha," Stiles said, voice taught and tight with a sort of darkness that held the gripped with fear; their own emotions amplified by feeling the others fear as it became a stench in the air. "Am something that even werewolves fear - but, oh you wouldn't know about that would you? Because you never bother to read, do you know how long it took Stiles to figure out what it was? Not even _five minutes_, and yet here you all are, supernatural beings and one - useless - hunter and you don't even know," The _thing_ let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You call yourself 'supernatural creatures',"

"What Are You!" Derek barked out again, voice harsh as he demanded an answer.

He didn't see Stiles move, suddenly he was standing at the foot of the porch before he was standing in front of Derek, one supernaturally strong hand gripping is throat in a grasp so tight it started to choke him, lifitng the much heavier and older man from the floor.

"You are in no position to demand _anything_, wolf!" Stiles roared, lips curling to expose white teeth as the human lifted the Alpha werewolf. "Least of all from this human or me!"

"St-Stiles!" Derek choked, seeing from the corner of his eye his pack stiff and frozen with merely a wave of the demons hand. His clawed hands scrabbled at Stiles' hand, rivulets of blood escaping and marring Stiles' pale skin with a red that seemed to burn into Dereks eyes.

"My name," The demon snarled, eyes black as pitch and paying no attention to the fact that his meat suit was fast loosing blood. "Is _Acham_!" Anger flashed through the stark eyes and Derek felt panic well up in him as the hand around his throat spasmed before he was thrown through the air as if he was weightless, flying ungracefully into a thick trunk of a tree before falling heavily onto leaf and branch strewn forest floor.

Blackness encroached upon his vision and his last sight was of Stiles with the black as pitch eyes, smirking at the pack; the stench of sulfur sharp in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

Thursdays Childe

It was a Thursday when his eyes turned as black as pitch.

_Authors Note(1): My first Teen Wolf fic! and it's about demon!stiles. I really not sure if I've managed to portray everyone correctly which is why I haven't wrote and/or posted any Teen Wolf before but I am new to this fandom but ohmygod it gives me so many feels and Stiles is such a pretty angel! Also, everyone should just listen to Stiles Stilinski because everyone else is stupid._

_Authors Note(2): Well, it turns out that now I can't even write oneshots anymore because I've got into the swing of writing Chapters! I like this fic though, might be because you get to see Stiles being the BAMF!kin he is. Also, my chapters can be either long or short, some may be fillers, some may be lengthy amoutns of information so don't expect to be treated with long chapters all the time. _

_Authors Note(3): Acham - Demon of Thursday according to Christian Demonology. (Who knew my Philosophy and Ethics class would come in handy!)_

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own **_**Teen Wolf**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not mine.**

* * *

Chapter Two: Dearest Genim

Truth be told, Acham _hated_ Beacon Hills; or more rather, the lack of intelligent life form and fashion sense which the small Californian town was utterly devoid of.

Only one girl had caught his eye, a girl by the name of Lydia - Lydia Martin - if he was correct but he had been instantly been off put by her vapid nature and her intolerance of anything not remotely connected to herself. Lydia Martin, whilst a pretty human, would not be the ideal meatsuit. He needed someone more than just pretty, he needed someone who had an abundance of intelligence - and whilst Ms Lydia was smart, she was stupid enough to hide it so that made her an idiot in his eyes - he needed someone who knew people; who knew people who could help Acham achieve his ends.

That was how he ended up meeting Stiles Stilinski - Acham would never admit that he had snorted in his mind (you couldn't really snort when you were merely a mass of black cloud) when he saw how many people actually thought that Stiles was his real first name; he had watched Stiles and his father - who Acham would never admit he thought was rather attractive, perhaps more attractive than that hunter, Chris Argent though that may have been because the attraction to Chris Argent was already planted into Stiles' mind (no one really had to know, his meatsuit had argued, especially Allison) - long enough to know that Stiles was suppose to be _Genim_, but that Genim had unofficially changed it when he was ten; a two years after his mother had fell pray to her long and painful battle to a Lung Cancer.

Watching Genim had been a revelation; he was smart, almost incorrigably so with a smart mouth that seemed to lack a filter. It had just made him that much more endearing to Acham, which was rather odd as most Demons were conditioned to be emotional wreckages that did not go near humans, to only possess them and not to get attached (well, that was out the bloody window). He had watched as Genim went from a dead sleep, curled up in a tiny ball at the foot of his bed, the sheets converging upon him and making Acham wonder just how he _breathed_, to bouncing around his room, showering quickly and getting dressed just as fast.

But then dear Genim had slowed, opening the white medicine cabinet that was above his sink, taking out two bottles; Anti-anxiety and Adderall. He had felt confusion, but when he saw how Genim had calmed, his heartbeat slow - almost _too_ slow - he had seen just how the medication had changed him and Acham had felt unusual sorrow swallow him, that this sixteen year old was already on medication that changed him but was all to nessaccary and he felt the inate urge to try and _change_ the fact. What baffled him the most was the fact that whilst Genim was running with Wolves, they had done nothing to try and change him, to make him stronger and better. Intelligence make the weak a threat whilst intelligence make the strong almost unbeatable. With the amount of intelligence upon Genims side, he would be unbeatable if he was to become a werewolf.

So he had laid in wait, impatience biting at the edge of his conscious as he waited for Genim to fall asleep, hovering above Sheriff Stilinski's house like a bat and if he perhaps didn't do as good a job as hiding from Genim's prying eyes as he could have, well that was his own business. Acham had watched, with a small amount of amusement, as Genim had curled up in a too-large hoody and a pair of tattered boxers once again in that tight little ball with which Acham sometimes feared he would suffocate considering his face was so deeply pressed into his pillow.

He had bided his time, waiting till Genim had lifted his face to he was facing the open window which had numerous claw and scuff marks decorating its sill. Knowing that his future meatsuit was dead to the world, where he had dispersed into even smaller black smoky particles and he violated Genim, overtaking his body and making the sleeping boy snap awake with wide eyes and an open mouth as black smoke poured into his amber eyes and pink lipped-mouth and through expanding nostrils, scratching against his throat and ripping it raw even as Genim screamed, his yells muffled and raw.

Genim dropped back down upon the bed, eyes wide before slipping shut with a feel of exhaustion even as he curled in on himself.

Deep inside the delves of Genims mind, Acham slumbered slightly, his reach too weak for the moment to overtake dear Genim's mind which raced with ideas and reasons and problems even in sleep.

_This was going to be __**so much fun**_

When Genim awoke, startled but with no realy inkling to what had happened, it was amber eyes that opened but with a dark overtone. Acham was in full control. And it was _glorious_.

Genim moved smoothly, all sharp lines and soft curves as Acham moved Genim's body, like a puppeter who was pulling his marinettes strings to do his bidding. He stripped his meatsuit of the hoody and the tattered boxers after surveying himself in the mirror, standing in front of Genims wardrobe with his hands on the slim hips; Genim may have been pretty and intelligent and Acham may have a self-confessed love for comics which he shamelessly fangirled over but he had a small - or not so small - love for leather.

Leather was soft and leather was nice and Genim probably looked gorgeous in leather.

So Acham rooted around in the bottom of Genims wardrobe, feeling a grin split his mouth when he pulled out a pair of smooth leather pants that made him shiver, sure he had leather fetish, but it was much more tamer than his others. Before slipping them on, Acham pulled out a plain black shirt that he _just_ knew would look fabulous on Genims slim but slightly muscular frame.

And if he spent a little time admiring himself in the mirror and stroking a hand down his chest, well no one but him and Genim had to know.

Acham didn't even hide the fact that he was so pleased that his little Genim had managed to figured out what was even possessing him with just a glance at his pitch black eyes. His little Genim had such a pleasing mind and such massive intelligence that when teh time comes, Acham knew he would loath to leave Genim; his little Genim was such a little gem, the brightest star in the sky for his little Genim was far above crayons, especially those Crayola. He _despised_ Crayola.

As he sauntered down the stairs, the worn wood not even creaking as they usually do, and past Genims beaten up Jeep - upon which he could taste and smell the faint taste of hurt and pain and blood, and Acham was _really_ going to have words with the useless _pup_ that had the gall to say he was an _Alpha _he intruded upon Genim, his lips lifting up as he heard his little ones thoughts; dear Genim was rather amusing in his rambling and he was quite interested in how Genims mind worked, almost like a clock with its intricate cogs and mechanisms; it was simply fascinating.

He sauntered right past the Jeep, swallowing his own sadness that stemmed from Genim who had calmed, having curled up in a corner with his amber eyes trained in something that Acham strangly couldn't see. His first step was slow, lifting his head up to the bright sky and the glinting sun; he hadn't seen the sun in more than a decade and he had missed it, to feel it's warm rays shine across his meatsuits skin was something that couldn't be duplicated.

He ran the rest of the way, feeling Genims legs pump and crunch forward as his muscles strained and ripped they went faster than they were designed for. When he saw the husk of what only could be the Hale House, he felt disgust well up; an Alpha thought this was a safe place? Acham could feel the instabilty and hear the percarious creaks of the crumbling beams that creaked under the weight of the already falling house.

He stepped forward, his footsteps otherwise silent apart from the soft crackle of the grass underfoot, warm and crisp from the sun beating down upon the clearing. He had barely touched down in front of the house porch when it was suddenly full, the Alpha, Derek, in front of him the other wolves surrounding him.

He stiffened when a teenager, with an uneven jawline and fancy hair literally bounced forward. "Stiles!" _"Seriously Stiles, how is this even a werewolf?"_, he used Genims fake name, but he spat it out like it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth._"Shut up,"_ was whispered surlishly back at him and Acham laughed in his head. He stiffened Scott bounced forward, more like Thumper than a werewolf as he flung his arms around Achams meatsuit. He did not return the embrace.

He watched with cold eyes as the poor excuse for a werewolf bounced back to stand next to his mate, a pretty brunette girl with bright eyes - Allison, if he was correct - and someone who had manipulated so much of Scotts time that they had pratically abandoned Genim when he was justing trying to help them.

They had just gone to the bottom of his 'Like' list.

"My name," Acham started, feeling slightly odd as his jaw moved; it was strange to be talking through something that he was so disconnected from. "Is not Stiles,"

Blondie McBoobs, Erica, frowned as she pursed her red lips. He did not appreciate her stern words. "Did you take to much Adderall, Stilinski? Because I think it's messed with more than your hyperactivity," How _dare_ she? That pitiful Beta wolf thought she had the authority to talk like that to dear little Genim? Was this what his little one had to put up with on a daily basis? No wonder his little Genim was so introvert and needed to take so much of his Antianxiety medication!

His anger startled even him.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure your name is Stiles, unless you're going by Geni-" Incensed, Acham lazily waved a hand as irritation built up in him. He watched with a sense of satisfaction as Scott was flung back, through walls and furniture to land flat on his back on the otherside of the house. He could still feel red clouding his vision, stomach rolling oddly in anger at the fact that Scott - a _failure_ of a werewolf - had the gall to even think he had the right to call Genim by his name. Only _he_ could call his little one by Genim!

He didn't even flinch when Derek, all fangs and claws and fur, _roared_.

"Now _this_ is more like it!" Acham giggled, jumping up and down even as he clapped his hands together. He watched with shrewd eyes as the rest of the pack was forced behind Derek, the human mate having been handed a jagged-surfaced knife that he wanted to laugh at.

"What are you?" Derek asked, face drawn and heavy as his voice deepened into what could pass as an intimidating growl. In his own head, startling Genim who had fallen oddly silent - no doubt trying to concoct some sort of plan, he thought fondly - he laughed, watching as Derek got himself wriled up in a way that made Acham all the more satisfied. Always a one for dramatics, Acham tilted his head, seeing Derek flinch with confusion, and blinked-

"I, my dear Alpha," Acham said, manipulating Genim and watching with a sick sense of glee as Derek flinched, claws curling in on themselves, revelling in the stench of utter fear, sharp and bitter upon the air. "Am something that even werewolves fear - but, oh you wouldn't know about that would you? Because you never bother to read, do you know how long it took Stiles to figure out what it was? Not even _five minutes_, and yet here you all are, supernatural beings and one - useless - hunter and you don't even know," Acham let out a sharp bark of laughter, pride for his little Genim bleeding through though Acham knew it would have been lost upon the uncultered neanderthals in front of him. "You call yourself 'supernatural creatures'," the dig caused Erica, who had been silently shaking to let out a soundless snarl, once pretty face twisted into an ugly growl filled with scorn.

"What are you!" Derek barked again, order and demand in every line of his body and Acham once again felt anger well up in him. This wolf, this _pup_, thought he could deman anything of him? Or his little Genim? This little _pup_ wasn't fit enough to be a _Beta_ never mind an Alpha Werewolf. Now though, that Peter Hale, Dereks uncle, was someone who was worthy enough of his little human. He was strong and smart, with a deviousness that was only matched by Genims. As he rewatched the memory that was almost at the forefront of Genim's mind, he smiled internily. He could smell the slight attraction that Genim had held, overshadowed by fear so much so that the deceased Alpha could smell it. He may just have to get someone to make a deal to resurrect dear ol' Peter.

But something about Dereks angered tone grated against his last nerve and he let his anger overtake him; he moved so quickly and so silently, not even the wolves could see him. Suddenly, he was on the porch with one supernaturally strong hand clenched sharply around Dereks throat, lifting him with a strength that made Genim inside him groan.

_This_ was the power his little Genim could - and _will_ - have.

"You are in no position to deman _anything_, wolf!" Acham snarled, voice low and rough as his tight grip began to choke the suspended Alpha. He could sense fear in the air, a bitter taste that made Achams inside crawl with pleasure as Genim whined lowly in the back of his mind. "Least of all from this human or me!"

"St-Stiles!" Derek choked out, claws grating sharply against the fragile skin of Genims hands, and Acham felt disgust wave over him at the complete disregard the Alpha held for his little human. _This wouldn't do!_

"My name," He snarled, anger and disgust making a strange combination as he heard that useless Alpha utter even a variation of Genim's name, fake or not. He paid no mind to the blood that rapidly spread from Genim, vowing to bandage them later and making sure to take Genim to the hospital or that vet, that Dr Deaton? to get them looked after professionally. His little Genim deserved at least that. "Is _Acham_!" He allowed anger to bleed through his eyes, never even noticing the fact that he had managed to freeze the pack without his forethoughts.

With anger rearing through him at the blood soaking Genims pale flesh and knowing who had caused it, his hand - and Dereks soft throat- was twisted to the side and Acham watched with a sick glee as the Alpha collided heavily into the thick trunk of a tree which splintered and cracked before the werewolf fell heavily to the leaf and branch strewn forest floor. He watched as redd eyes dimmed to blurry green and brown before they slipped closed, panic thick in the air.

_Do not worry Little Genim. Things shall all be better._

If only he could find someone to resurrect Peter; than things would be _fabulous_.

* * *

Authors Note: Points to you if you catch the Supernatural Castiel Leviathan reference!


	3. Chapter 3

Thursdays Childe

It was a Thursday when his eyes turned as black as pitch.

_Authors Note(1): My first Teen Wolf fic! and it's about demon!stiles. I really not sure if I've managed to portray everyone correctly which is why I haven't wrote and/or posted any Teen Wolf before but I am new to this fandom but ohmygod it gives me so many feels and Stiles is such a pretty angel! Also, everyone should just listen to Stiles Stilinski because everyone else is stupid._

_Authors Note(2): Well, it turns out that now I can't even write oneshots anymore because I've got into the swing of writing Chapters! I like this fic though, might be because you get to see Stiles being the BAMF!kin he is. Also, my chapters can be either long or short, some may be fillers, some may be lengthy amoutns of information so don't expect to be treated with long chapters all the time. _

_Authors Note(3): Acham - Demon of Thursday according to Christian Demonology. (Who knew my Philosophy and Ethics class would come in handy!?)_

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own **_**Teen Wolf**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not mine.**

Chapter Three:

_Stiles first heard of demons when he was four, all long curly hair and glowing amber eyes and pale skin as he sat between his mother and father on a pew in the middle row of the Beacon Hills Church, mouth uncharacteristically silent as he heard the Priest's speech come to a roundbout. He had been dressed in his Sunday Best, a red bowtie, white undershirt and black pressed slacks that fell just this side of two long._

_He remembered Father Josefs almost manic eyes as he talked to Stiles, happiness hot in his face as he chatted to the boy who had asked to go to Mass, not someone who had been forced. Because Stiles had asked, John and Amanda Stilinski having made a pact with each other and Father Josef that they would not force Stiles - or Genim as he had been called then - to go to church unless he had asked. Stiles hadn't needed to have supernatural sniffing senses to notice Amandas happiness when her only son conceive a likeliness to go to Mass with her and John. _

_The entire line of Crosgrove had been Catholic and Amanda Crosgrove had been no exception. Even when she had become Amanda Stilinski._

_But that was before, before everything. Before Amandas Lung Cancer which had rendered her so weak she couldn't even walk. Before his paternal grandmother disowned them for she was so far from Catholic it was unreal and would apparently no tolerate any 'Bible-Bashing Freaks' to be her grandson. After, Stiles had pretended not to here the broken sobs that echoed from the hospital room which had became Amanda's permanent residence._

_Than the Hale Fire happened; with Derek, Laura and their uncle Peter having been the only ones to survive and Amanda had keeled over, pain on her face and his skin smelling of tears at the news of the fact that her best friend, that Lucinda Hale was dead whilst Amanda was still stuck in a hospital room. Stiles knew that Amanda wished that it had been her that had died rather than Lucinda for Lucinda had been with child, unbeknowest to anyone of her family, with only Amanda managing to figure out the symptoms (Later, Stiles would wonder how the born werewolves hadn't managed to track the change in her scent, before finally realising that the child obviously hadn't had time to 'form' a scent and wasn't that a kick in the gut?)_

_Than Stiles remembered climbing into his mothers lap, face wet and rubbed raw with his tears as he remembered when he was told about Peter, who was comatosed and burned almost beyond recognition. As he sobbed, he remembered sitting with Peter as John and Amanda talked with Lucinda and Devon, cuddled up to the elder mans side as a hand ran through his lengthening hair as a soft crooning voice whispered in to his ear; the first story Peter had ever read to him was Little Red Riding Hood and the book that had been salvaged from Peters room - with the name Little Genim Vladislore scripted inside in neat italics - was now one of his most prized possessions, sitting at the forefront of his bedside table._

_Than Amanda had died, and the little gold cross necklace that Stiles remembered Amanda giving him was ripped from his neck and was cast aside to the back of his draw, just above a picture of Amanda, sickly pale and fragile as she sat in her wheelchair, a tremulous smile upon her cracked lips as Stiles stood behind her, hands upon the handles of her wheelchair as John took the picture. But whilst Stiles had lost his faith in God - and lost faith in ever managing to refind in - John threw himself into the bottom of the bottle; the stench of whiskey and beer and vodka sharp upon him. And if John ever became so distraught that he sometimes mistook Stiles for Amanda only to realize it was his son, well Stiles became quite efficent in pretending that the bruise upon his cheek was from something stupid rather than his father having been in a drunken rage._

_That was when he realized that his father couldn't look at him sober._

_And it hurt more than expected, because he remembered times of when John would never hesitate to hug him or hold him; he wanted that John again. He wanted his father back. What hurt even more was the realization was that that may never happen._

_That had been the reason for his first panic attack, he remembered not being able to breath, unable to get in anything but sharp, hurried breaths that burned lke molten lava as it ran fluidly through his veins as he fell to the floor, clutching his chest with panic that added even more strain to him-_

Stiles watched, passive in all but his thoughts as the demon - _Acham_ rather, the Demon of Thursday Stiles recalled - clicked his fingers, feeling an unfamiliar sensation of sadistic happiness when the Pack fell to the floor, necks limp as they became unconscious, eyes blank and face hard as they grew limp, piled around each other, Boyds dark skin like coal next to Isaacs fair skin, Ericas blond curls stark as they fell gracefully in Isaacs darkerned curls and Boyds closely shaven head, Scott and Allison beneath them all.

Derek was roused to consciousness by the thumps of his pack members and a pack members mate falling ungracefully to the floor, eyes madder in colour and glinting in his fury. But he was forced to his knees when the pain of his broken back knitting back together, arching and growling out his injuries even as he healed.

Acham, still in full control of Stiles' body, let loose a loud sharp bark of laughter that made Stiles, curled up but no longer that much afraid, flinched in the confines of his own mind. Sharp satisfaction was running rampant through his body as Derek stumbled to his feet, eyes wide but fully in Alpha Form as he tried to hide his fear.

"I can smell your fear, _wolf_," Acham snarled, voice rough and harsh, like broken glass as he tried to sooth Stiles, feeling hate well up in his stomach when he felt Stiles flinch, fear and panic heady and making Acham snarl and toss his head side to side, running an agitated hand through his shortly cropped hair. He raised his head in the air and breathed deeply, the acrid stench of fear sharp in the air and bursting on his tongue as Derek tried not to show his trembling.

This little pup was no where near ready to be Alpha, Acham knew that it had been his elder sister, Laura whom had been groomed to be the Hale Alpha after Alpha Devons passing and though their uncle Peter had been an Alpha, he had gladly given up claim to Laura only to take it back with her most unfortunate but needed death. Derek had none of the training, he had not been groomed to be able to withstand the power of the Alpha Eyes which would thrum through their veins, like a brand of heroine that would remain forever in their bodies until their death. Derek had already fallen prey to the most basic instincts of turning anyone and everyone he came across who so much as seemed like they needed the bite.

The Wulf Bite was something that should not be freely given; it had it's own negative repercussions which could result in either permenant injuries or death as the body rejected the toxin which would ravenge their bodies until their basic human genes had been suitably altered to fit that of a werewolf. It was a long and painful process which had a large death toll; to become a werewolf, you had to withstand enormous amounts of pain, your bones shifting and cracking and twisting as your hair follicles forcibly grew and your teeth split and lengthened.

You body may not reject the bite, but you could still die.

This little make-shift pack of nothing but incorrigibly angsty teenagers would soon fall eventually, overrun by much more ruthless packs which would sense the weakness of the Alpha and would sought to challenge Derek, ripping him to shreds and if they had decided their currant pack was already too large in numbers,, would kill the remaing Pack members without even giving them a chance to try and avenge their Alpha or plead for their life. Packs needed to be strong and ruthless. Alone you were weak, together you were strong.

They needed an Alpha that was strong and intelligent, that understood just how much was at stake if they were to continue on as they were. And with that Alpha, would become a mate. A mate whose scent would drive the Alpha's wolf almost insane with the need to bond with them. Like real wolves, werewolves mated for life and whilst some may never have a _verum coeunt_ only those who had managed to merge with their Spirit-Wulfs, who had become true spirit wolf warriors would gain that honor.

Unfortunately, the traditions of the Olde Wulfs died within the Hale Pack with the death of Alpha Laura and than the death of Alpha Peter.

But Acham was smart, and Genim was much smarter than anyone had even given him credit for. Especially that Lydia Martin who thought she was the smartest but she would soon learn that she was not the highest human on the totem pole, that spot was reserved for dear little Genim, and than Peter and whilst Acham personally didn't have a reason why Genim _had_ researched something like that, the ritual to raise an Alpha from death, to their former glory was imprinted into Genims wonderful mind and strangely, Acham thought that perhaps Genim had researched such a ritual _because_ of Derek becoming Alpha. Perhaps Genim knew just how out of his depth Derek really was and sought to change that.

Perhaps Genim was hiding even more than Acham even knew.

Acham had plans though, plans that he could tell had piqued Genims' interest from where he was sitting, cross-legged in the middle of a black as pitch room in his own mind and he couldn't pretend that that interet wasn't enough to pique his own emotions towards the seemingly fragile human; he could see why Peter Hale had been so interested in this one. Genim would be the one to make Peter rise, just as he had lead to Peters downfall.

A complete cycle within _verum coeunt_.

Turning his back, Acham completely disregarded Derek, who stood frozen in mid leap, claws and fangs out stretched as if ready to rip out Genims throat. When Acham finally figured out the trajectory, he waved a hand lazily and watched in sadistic glee as the unconscious Alpha landed a top the limp forms of his pack, hearing more than one bone break under his considerable weight.

But it was not Derek that was important; rather it was the charred corpse beneath the Hale House and the runes which rolled past is minds eyes which derived his full attention.

Alpha Peter would rise again.

_Authors Note: I am so sorry for my late update but lifes been real messy!_

_Yes, the Supernatural reference was 'this is going to be s much fun' and yes, this is going to be a StilesxPeter fic with a little bit of one-sided DerekxStiles because I like to torture myself for some obtuse to everyone who reviewed and I hope you like this next chapter!_


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